figure me out.

the way intertwining dividends between time invested, and growth. sore throat, sore back, sore humdrum. the ever growing size of my blood pump squeezing out of the thorax. 500 pound live, flesh chief alien invasion. the least entertaining showcase of something alive. imagine going to sleep, with binary code in your dream. you wake up and see, a beating heart in the sheets. take a nosedive into oblivion. hold me. i sigh.

neitzche authored the sequences that I’m telling you now. everyday is considered lost if were not dancing around. acceptance a must. i want to forget you, forget that it happened.. lao tzu said if you’re depressed you’re living in the past. if you’re living in the future, then its anxiety. i’m trying to delete this undo button on the time machine. i want to speak to the one. whether it be with our feet or our tongues. I’m used to this dance. exchanging euphemisms or moving to trance. don’t lose me. opportunities snatched.

i don’t know how to express myself without giving away, exact detail, but still obscuring the day. the sunset, and the rain, the gun smoke, the malaise, the perspiring. tired breaths, fire sex. i couldn’t talk. because you were my only dialect

getting wound up in simile and allegorical speak, creating a world where the orbit isn’t even normal to me. it’s tough being an alien. love seeing it rain. UFO license plate reading catch me if you can. i love seeing you change, don’t want to see you the same. love being in rain. i hate leaving a trail that’s exposed. i love sleet, hail and the snow. they’re the same thing just at different times of the year. like.. we are. or we were. i love to be in control. i hate underlying factors. i hate underlining tantrums. i hate when the sun provides a mountain of sunshine for eternity. i hate uncertainty. being doused in a punchline is concerning. i dislike being lost. implant a GPS in my dome, let it beep when I’m gone. come sing me a song, lea salonga, let me show you the world. an interrupted reality where romanticism is whole. where erotic fiction overturns symphonic diction thats promised. everything i input is invalid or old. I can’t put my finger on it.

I’m back again. I identified the problem. Happiness can’t be figured out. That’s the point. you’re either a vastly void barcode, or a single celled, organism. that was an awful way to put what I’ve been trying to mean. and honestly

i didn’t say what i wanted to scream. i’ve got a troll that lives under the bridge where sound comes out of in the link of my throat. a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow isn’t enough to bring him to home. you live and you tell stories for these generations to see. I’m barely better than i was 5 minutes ago. but barely is better than nothing. i plead. pitch me a tent to live in. please, don’t let me down. sometimes i’ll take a shower, and put it on freezing. and sit there until i figure it out. goosebumps surround sound. sound cut off. curtain close. audience gasp. slowclap. then taking a bow.